


6 Times They Tried Something New

by Useless19



Series: Times [2]
Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 00:31:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19712668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Useless19/pseuds/Useless19
Summary: Shore leave isn’t something the Master Chief usually takes, but he’s never going to find uninterrupted time to explore his new alien partner otherwise.





	6 Times They Tried Something New

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place a couple of days after _5 Times The Arbiter Knew They Were In A Relationship + 1 Time The Master Chief Did_ , without John and the Arbiter having managed to get any privacy.

_Getting naked_

It's not exactly shore leave — John's pretty sure it's been put in the logs as a mission — but it's close enough that John doesn't care about the distinction.

The _Forward Unto Dawn_ had been stopping at a human colony planet for resupplying and Cortana had made the suggestion that John and the Arbiter might like to get to _know_ one another in private. When John hadn’t gone for the obvious bait, Cortana had gone over his head and Keyes had approved the leave without so much as John's knowledge.

So, he here is, with the Arbiter, dropped off by Pelican to a place Johnson promised has no other humans in a twenty-mile radius.

The cabin is small — flimsy even. The only building in sight on the strip of beach they landed on.

“Humans build permanent dwellings from wood?” The Arbiter asks, eyeing up the cabin like it might fall down if he so much as sneezes.

“Sometimes, when there's a lot of it around,” John replies. “And when we don't expect it to have to stand up to a fight.”

“It must be nice to live in such peace.”

John leaves that alone. He's meant to be on vacation and getting into an argument over politics isn't how he wants to start things.

Instead, he walks up to the door and finds a note stapled to it in Johnson’s messy scrawl.

_No armour to be worn inside._

John ignores it and opens the unlocked door. The inside is bright with the early afternoon sunlight. John stomps through in his boots until finds the bedroom and throws his bag in.

The Arbiter looks as out of place in the lounge as John feels. They're the best of the best, top soldiers who live on the battlefield. This little beach house doesn't fit them at all.

“So,” John says. What do people do for fun on vacation? The sight of the sparkling blue ocean through the window catches his eye and gives him an idea. “Want to go for a swim?”

“Humans swim?”

“You can't be surprised at everything humans do.”

“You constantly surprise me,” the Arbiter says. “In all the best ways.”

“Don't get all mushy on me.” John pulls his helmet off and grins. “First one in gets to pick what movie we watch this evening.”

The Arbiter's mandibles flex as he parses what John just said — John’s not completely sure how well it translates — and John's got his gloves off before he starts to strip too.

John gets down to his briefs just as the Arbiter takes off toward the water. John sprints after him with a shout. The Arbiter might have a head start, but John's spent years in marine training, including running on sand for resistance. He catches up and overtakes just as they reach the first waves.

The water quickly gets up to John's chest. He looks over his shoulder, but the Arbiter has vanished. John pushes out a bit further until he has to tread water to keep his head up.

A dark shape travels through the water toward John and a second later the Arbiter breaks the surface. Without his armour his skin looks lighter in the bright sunlight, no shining metal to distract away from his features.

It's an unpleasant thought that John's only ever seen his race naked as corpses the marines had stripped for easy disposal.

“It has been some time since I last took to the water,” the Arbiter says. “Spacecraft hold no such luxuries.”

“Tell me about it,” John agrees, kicking up until he’s on his back, floating.

The Arbiter dives again, splashing John. He closes his eyes and enjoys a moment of silence and the contrast of cool ocean water against his back and sunlight warming his front. He rarely finds time to relax out of his armour.

A shadow blots out the sun and water drips onto John's face. He opens his eyes to find the Arbiter looking down at him.

“I thought you wanted to swim, not float.”

“It’s all in the water.” John twists until he’s upright again. “Want a race?”

* * *

“You swim well for a hairy creature,” the Arbiter says sometime later, as though he didn't just outpace John completely. “Is there a significance to the patterns?”

“Patterns? It's random genetics how much hair we grow,” John treads water, mulling over the question. “You'd have to ask Cortana why we grow it in certain places, it wasn't needed in my training.”

“No, these patterns,” the Arbiter traces a finger through John's chest hair.

It takes John a second to realise what he means. It's been so long since he's noticed.

“My armour rubs,” John says. “It’s worse on my legs.”

“And that is not an issue for combat?”

“It's not that bad,” John says. “If it was chafing enough to draw blood they would've fixed it, but hair's a vanity thing for humans and that's one of the first things to go in a war.”

“Then your Commander Keyes puts her vanity above her crew's?”

“It's different for women,” John explains, “Long hair is a sign of femininity. They're expected to be prettier, even in wartime.”

“That seems unfair.”

John shrugs. “I'll worry about equality when we're not fighting for our lives.”

The Arbiter runs a hand over John's buzz cut. Water drips into John's face.

“Will you choose vanity after the war is over?” The Arbiter asks.

“I doubt I'll have a choice,” John says. “There’s always another war somewhere in the galaxy.”

“But I feel you will be the one to end this one.”

John doesn't want to get into war discussions — he's supposed to be having a holiday, dammit — and it must show in his face because the Arbiter changes the subject.

“How long can humans hold their breath?”

John sucks in a lungful of air and dives beneath the surface in reply. He's joined shortly after by the Arbiter. Together they swim through the bright ocean.

* * *

John strips off his briefs when he gets back inside the cabin and grabs a towel to dry his face. He otherwise takes great delight in dripping seawater on the rugs, knowing Johnson’s not getting his deposit back.

He pulls the towel off his face and does a double take at the look the Arbiter has levelled him with.

“What?”

“Is swimming an arousing activity for you?” the Arbiter asks delicately.

“No.” John checks he’s not hard. “Why do you think that?”

The Arbiter tilts his head, considering. He makes the connection about the same time John does. It’s not like the Arbiter has anything hanging between his legs right now, despite being as naked as John.

“It is always out for humans then. Does that not get in the way?”

John laughs. “You have _no_ idea.”

* * *

_Kissing_

John picks a generic action movie from the options on the tv. He makes sure there aren’t any aliens — unsure how that would come across — but otherwise isn’t discerning.

As he expected, they both spend the first half of the movie complaining about the stupidity of the hero’s plans and discussing how they would have led a more successful operation.

“Humans kiss?”

John looks over from where he's grabbing some snacks. On screen, the hero and his newly-rescued girl are making out like there's no tomorrow. The Arbiter is watching intently from where he’s leaning against the back of the couch.

Turns out human-shaped couches aren’t comfortable for Elites for more than fifteen minutes at a time.

“Yeah, you guys do it too?”

“Differently.”

“I figured.” John puts the bowl of snacks down and catches the Arbiter’s attention. “Want me to show you?”

The Arbiter nods and waits for John to make his move.

“So there’s the type that they’re doing.” John waves a hand at the screen. “But kissing doesn’t just happen on the mouth.”

He leans in with more practised confidence than he feels and presses his lips to the skin behind the Arbiter’s jaw. Then kisses again, further down. The Arbiter’s skin tastes of sea salt. Kiss by kiss he makes his way down the Arbiter’s neck.

The Arbiter hisses when John reaches the patch of spines on his shoulder, so he takes that as a cue to stop while he’s ahead.

“Good?” John asks.

“Interesting,” the Arbiter replies. He touches the tip of one long finger to John's lips. “You’re redder here.”

“It happens, it’ll go away soon,” John says. He licks his lips and the Arbiter pulls his finger away.

The air is filled with electricity. Something has shifted and it won’t ever go back to being the same.

“So, go on, how does it work for Elites?”

“For those sexually involved, two can…” The Arbiter laces his fingers together in place of words that likely won’t translate well for John.

“Yeah, pretty sure I can't do that,” John says.

“Let me try this.” The Arbiter brings John's hand up, so his wrist is against the Arbiter's mouth.

There are four pinches simultaneously as the Arbiter's mandibles wrap around John's forearm, even as something warm and wet explores John's pulse point. The mandibles shift one at a time and the Arbiter slowly moves up John's arm until he reaches his elbow. The press of teeth and the drag of tongue is an odd combination.

“Interesting,” John says, somewhat breathlessly.

Okay, alien kisses are a turn on. That's good to know.

The Arbiter rubs his thumb down John arm, where he's left a trail of red marks.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, it'll be gone soon,” John promises, “I liked it.”

“Humans are so quick to damage yet so fast to heal,” the Arbiter muses.

“Means we can do some interesting things with it,” John says. “How easily do you bruise?”

The Arbiter tilts his head. “Not very. Why?”

“Just thinking about what I can do to you,” John says. “Let’s go to the bedroom and I can show you.”

* * *

_Handjobs_

The Arbiter’s the biggest person John has ever taken to bed. He rarely seeks out marine company these days, preferring the anonymity of planetside hookups. Given the average human is a foot shorter than John to begin with, it’s odd to be looking someone in the eye without having to crane his neck down.

In fact, he’s going to start getting a crick in his neck from looking _up_ , if the Arbiter continues to stand tall like he’s doing right now.

John folds his arms in impatience. He'd offered to let the Arbiter examine a human body as much as he wants, but all the Arbiter's done so far is look.

“Well, go on.” John prompts.

The Arbiter presses a hand against John's back. He traces down over scars and muscle, gently exploring. John's usual hookups tend to be hurried, tipsy things. This careful intensity is new.

“You have hair everywhere,” the Arbiter says, rubbing a thumb down John’s spine.

“Most places, yeah.”

“More here —” the Arbiter touches John’s scalp, “— and here —” his hand slides down to John’s chest, “— and more here —” his fingers brush John’s pubic hair.

“Pretty sure I don’t talk about you being scaley this much,” John says.

“Perhaps you should. I would hear your thoughts on our differences too.”

The Arbiter presses a heavy palm against John’s chest and pushes him back until he’s sat on the edge of the bed. He follows it up with rough strokes, over John’s shoulders, thighs, chest, and back, taking in the feeling of human skin.

It's not unlike a massage, John’s had precious few of those in his life. He sinks into it, skin contact still fresh and shockingly welcome after so long in the suit.

The Arbiter finally takes John's cock in his long-fingered hand. The grip he uses is strange, two fingers on one side, two thumbs on the other, but John's already half hard from the stroking and nothing the Arbiter does changes that for the worse.

“Tell me what you would like,” the Arbiter says, mandibles flexing in anticipation.

In reply, John reaches down to wrap his hand over the Arbiter's. He demonstrates a few strokes, then laughs at the Arbiter's surprise as his cock gets harder.

“Keep going,” John says.

“How much thicker will it get?” The Arbiter asks, even as he keeps rubbing.

“Not — ah! That's good.” John bites his lip as the Arbiter squeezes and strokes faster. “Not much.”

The Arbiter plays with John, intensely curious about human anatomy. His fingers are warm against John’s balls and perineum, as he watches how stroking John’s cock makes things shift under his skin.

"Turn," the Arbiter says. "For Elites, pleasure is given in closeness."

John lets the Arbiter rearrange him until he's sat between the Arbiter's long legs, his back to an alien chest.

"Never would've taken all the teeth to mean _cuddly_ ," John says, breath hitching when the Arbiter starts pumping his cock again.

"Comfort is a private affair," the Arbiter says simply.

Despite his hand facing the same way as John's, the Arbiter's extra thumb gives John the impression of someone jacking him off from in front of him. He relaxes in the Arbiter's arms, scaled skin against his back cooler than a human's would be, but no less welcome.

It’s the weirdest handjob John’s ever had.

Still gets him there though. The previous buildup did its job and soon enough John’s arching back against the Arbiter, pressing against his busy hands.

John’s vision whites out for a second, then he grabs the Arbiter’s wrist to slow his hand and show him how to wring John’s orgasm out of him completely. That was good. Really good. It’s been a while since John last came that hard.

The Arbiter lets go of John’s cock gently and wipes his hand on the sheets. There’s a prickle against John’s shoulder as the Arbiter nuzzles him with his mandibles.

* * *

_Blowjobs_

“I've got an idea,” John says, once he's gotten his breath back.

They've moved apart to cool down for the moment and the Arbiter is lounging on the bed next to John, looking very pleased with himself. John closes the distance again and presses a kiss to a mandible.

“What are you planning?” The Arbiter asks.

“I did say humans don't just kiss on the mouth.”

John pushes the Arbiter onto his back and leans over him on all fours. He licks his lips and kisses the base of the Arbiter’s throat. The skin is still rougher and thicker than a human’s, undeniably alien. John licks over an oddly-shaped collar bone then slides further down, kissing as he goes.

John avoids the scar — the _brand_ — on the Arbiter's chest. It's not the only mark, but it's by far the worst. Instead, he mentally counts ribs as he licks past them and finds that there’s the same number as humans have, even if the bones are thicker.

He kisses down the Arbiter’s stomach then finds himself at a loss.

“Where do you keep it?”

The Arbiter reaches down and traces over a slightly ridged set of scales that don’t immediately look any different to the rest. John focuses, he’s going to learn this one way or another.

“Stop me if I do something wrong,” he says, then presses his mouth to the indicated section.

The Arbiter swears loud and long, only half of it making it through the translator, as John kisses and licks. At first, John thinks he’s not quite in the right place, then the scales under his lips shift. John redoubles his efforts and bit by bit the scales part until finally, John's tongue meets the tip of an alien dick. He lets the first inch slide into his mouth as it slowly emerges.

John sucks and it surges out another handful of inches in a rush, stopping just short of gagging John. He pulls off. Best to see what he’s working with before he tries that again.

The Arbiter’s dick is pale grey, hot, and slick with bitter alien fluids. Already it’s longer than John's, though much thinner, and it hasn’t stopped coming out yet.

“How long is it?”

The Arbiter clenches and his dick stops emerging. “Do you need less?”

“No, show me everything you’ve got.”

The Arbiter relaxes again and John uses his hands to coax out the rest of his dick. It’s long, at least twice as long as John's, and with more flex. There’s no visible head or foreskin like on a human cock. Even the placements of ligaments are a little too far away from John’s experiences to be anything other than alien.

“Not bad,” John says. He wraps both hands around it and that still leaves an intimidating amount for what he’s planning.

The Arbiter props himself up on his elbows to watch in fascination as John takes what he can of his dick into his mouth. It’s cooled somewhat in the evening air, but it’s still slick and twitches against John's tongue when he licks around the tip.

John pulls off. “Oral not common amongst Elites?”

The Arbiter just flares his mandibles in response, giving John a good view of the rough toothy insides. Like sticking your dick in a meat grinder.

John ducks his head down again, getting used to the taste and texture on his tongue. He can fit more of the Arbiter's dick in his mouth than a human one, mostly because human cocks can't bend like that.

John rhythmically flexes his fingers and the Arbiter’s dick twists enough to jab him in the back of the throat. It’s a fight not to gag, but John manages, pulling back a bit so there isn’t enough left in his mouth to do that again.

Whatever the slick substance was, it disappears under John’s tongue, leaving the Arbiter’s dick feeling a lot more like human skin against his mouth. There’s a ridge starting at the tip and running down in two directions for about an inch, maybe two. It wasn’t visible to the naked eye, but John’s tongue is sensitive enough to detect it.

With his mouth currently occupied, John figures he’ll ask for more details later. For now, making the Arbiter come undone is his top priority. A task that’s turning out to be a lot easier than expected.

Then again, first time blowjobs are always something special.

The Arbiter falls back, flat on his back. He’s not trying to fuck John’s face the way half the men he’s blown before like to do, but his dick’s getting squirmier and it’s all John can do to keep it in one place.

John pulls off and licks a long line from base to tip. The Arbiter tenses when John shifts back down to lick again.

“There,” the Arbiter pants, “more there.”

John presses his tongue firmly against the base of the Arbiter’s dick, feeling just as much scales rough against his tongue as slick alien cock. The Arbiter gives a cry and John hurriedly sits back up.

“Are you —”

“Keep going!” the Arbiter demands.

“Good noise then,” John says, even as he ducks down and starts licking again.

He alternates putting his tongue everywhere and sucking the tip again. With every change of pace, the Arbiter’s dick twists, trying to get deep in John’s mouth.

“If you keep going I will not be able to stop myself from finishing,” the Arbiter warns.

John pulls off to say he doesn’t mind but then considers something else.

“You’re not going to spray acid in my mouth or anything?” he asks, not wanting to get his tongue burnt off.

“My release will not harm you.”

“Then go whenever you’re ready.” With that, John starts up his blowjob again.

The Arbiter hisses, his dick pulses, and John braces for a mouthful of alien semen. He nearly throws himself off the bed when instead the end inch or two of alien dick splits in two, forking around John's tongue and pinching it.

The way his tongue’s being held up means that John's in no way prepared for the Arbiter to start coming. Hot, bitter fluid spills into John's mouth from both tips of the Arbiter’s forked dick. He stops breathing for fear of getting it in his lungs and hopes the Arbiter won’t take too long.

He doesn’t, thankfully. As soon as the pincer grip around his tongue is released, John pulls off and chokes out a mouthful of sticky, lilac-tinted cum into his cupped hands.

“Oh,” he manages, then spits again.

The Arbiter grabs John's head and pulls him up. His mandibles latch on to either side of John's face and his short, thin tongue presses against his lips.

Well, John's not going to ignore an invitation like that.

John slides his tongue out and into the Arbiter's toothy mouth. It's the weirdest kiss John's ever been a part of. He can just about breathe through his squashed nose and hang on as the Arbiter devours him.

The Arbiter pulls off a heady thirty seconds later and goes from happily satiated to horrified a moment after.

“You’re bleeding.”

John touches his cheek and finds a smear of blood when he pulls his fingers away.

“Don’t sweat it, I’ll heal,” John says.

“I —”

“Don’t apologise,” John interrupts. “That was amazing. You know I’m not that fragile, why are you acting like it?”

The Arbiter shakes his head. “I do not know.”

“Look, I get it, this is all new to both of us,” John says. “But the fact of the matter is: we’re doing great. You showed me a really good time just now and I’m confident I returned the favour. Focus on that and forget about everything else.”

The Arbiter nods slowly.

“I will try.”

* * *

_Xenophilia_

They spend the next day exploring the surrounding area. John gets fidgety when he’s cooped up and the Arbiter had expressed an interest in trying river fishing if they can find a good spot for it.

They both pack weapons, it would be stupid not to, but in deference to the heat and the fact that they’re meant to be on vacation, John leaves his armour behind and the Arbiter only takes his active camouflage device in case of emergency or humans stumbling across them.

Civilian clothing gets stuck on plant life more than John's armour ever did. It's annoying. He envies the Arbiter’s fitted bodysuit. His own thermal layers would’ve made things far too hot.

“So how does sex work between men for Elites?” John asks, after they’ve been walking for some time. They still haven’t reached the river yet. “It’s pretty common amongst the marines, I figure it’s the same on your ships.”

The Arbiter tilts his head in confusion. “Are there not females in your fleet? Commander Keyes and others like her?”

“Some, but not nearly enough for the men. Women don’t fight a much as men do.”

“Then would it surprise you to know that fourteen of the thirty Elites on our last but one mission were female?”

John tries to remember if he noticed any major differences between the Elites back then and draws a blank.

“I guess human women are easier for me to recognise,” he says.

The Arbiter stops short and holds up his hand in a military gesture. John silently slips closer to see what the problem is.

A shout cuts through the air. A happy one, from a human. It’s answered by a laugh. John can just make out a group of humans splashing in the river — so much for Johnson’s promises.

John and the Arbiter silently agree to avoid them, slipping between the trees stealthily. It swiftly turns into a game, seeing who can catch the other first. Just like a training mission.

They've had four rounds, two wins each, then the Arbiter activates his camouflage and John loses track of him entirely.

John ducks under some low branches and jumps over a stream, keeping to the shadows as much as he can. He can’t be spotted.

Something moves out of the corner of his eye, something invisible.

The Covenant? Here?

John's only got a pistol tucked into the waistband of his shorts. What happened to his armour? He glances up. There’s no Halo arching above him, so where is he? Why is he so ill-equipped?

This isn't good.

Something rustles in the bushes nearby, it's getting closer to John. He gets ready to fight. If he can get the first hit in, that'll buy him some time.

John rounds a tree. The invisible creature is right in front of him. Too close to take time aiming. John swings his pistol at its head.

The Arbiter reels back, now visible, snarling.

“Shit!” John yelps. There’s purple alien blood on the ground that shouldn’t be there.

“Explain yourself!” the Arbiter roars, fully pissed off commander to a stupid cowardly new recruit.

There’s a second when John's brain runs through _grab-its-energy-sword, slice-it-open, keep-your-back-to-a-tree, there’ll-be-more-out-there, you-have-to-fight, you-have-to-kill_ and then he snaps back to the present, where he’s just pistol-whipped his — boyfriend? partner? — in the face without visible cause.

“I thought…” John trails off because he isn’t sure what he thought, not really.

The Arbiter’s fury switches to concern and he stops looming quite so much.

“Chief,” the Arbiter holds a hand out in peace, “do you know where you are?”

John knows, he swears he does, but all he can think is _Halo_.

“No.”

“Do you know who you are?” the Arbiter continues, taking a cautious step forward.

“Master Chief John-117,” John replies, he’s always known that. “On active duty on the _Pillar_ … No, it’s not the _Pillar of Autumn_.”

“Do you know who I am?” The Arbiter asks. He's close enough to touch, but doesn't reach out.

“The Arbiter,” John says, “You're my… I haven't found the right word for it, but yours is a clickity-thuh.”

The Arbiter smiles and correctly pronounces the alien word. “Would you like to return to the wooden dwelling?”

It doesn't feel safe to wander blindly into the forest, but the only other option is to stay here and that's clearly not going to do anyone any good. John takes the Arbiter's offered hand and lets him lead him through the trees. The first time they've held hands since John realised they were a couple and it's in a situation like this.

It takes most of half an hour to retrace their path and find their cabin again. John immediately grabs his helmet and puts it on, sinking to the floor. The familiar shape and weight help put his mind at ease.

He's safe. He's safe. He's safe.

The Arbiter puts a glass of water and a bowl of spicy fruit at John's side.

“Would you like me to board the windows and block the door?” The Arbiter asks.

John shakes his head. The sunlight is a reminder that this is a peaceful planet.

“I will stand watch,” the Arbiter says, “nothing will harm you while I am here.”

“I'm fine,” John insists. “I'm thinking clearly again.”

The Arbiter says nothing for a long minute. John refuses to fidget under his gaze. Instead, he takes comfort in the HUD tracking his vitals.

The Arbiter kneels down in front of John, it’s a complicated process.

“I have seen this before,” he says. “Warriors who spend too much time in combat can forget how to live peacefully.”

“When I’m not in combat I’m in cryo,” John says. “I’m an investment that they can’t afford to let have a civilian life. Every second I can fight counts.”

“I have also spent much of my life in combat.” The Arbiter takes John's hands. “But not always on the front lines. I have had the comparative luxury to serve as commander, where the battle is often one of words and strategy, not just blades and bullets.”

“I hurt you.” John pulls his hands away.

“And now you know why I have been so fearful of harming you,” the Arbiter responds evenly. “This is not your fault.”

“I pistol-whipped you —”

“That was _not_ your fault.”

John falls silent. The sunlight dims. Some vacation this turned out to be.

“Rest,” the Arbiter orders. “Do not think on this until you are ready to take off your helmet.”

John's still good at following orders at least. He makes his way to the bedroom, shuts the blinds, then gets into bed.

His armoured head hits the pillow and he’s out like a light.

* * *

It’s some hours later when John's stomach decides to wake him up with a complaint. His HUD tells him it’s late evening.

He pulls his helmet off and shrugs his shoulders, trying to get rid of the crick in his neck. He can sleep fine in full armour, but the helmet alone is uncomfortable.

There’s a temptation to get fully kitted up again, but John resists. He leaves his helmet on the bedroom floor and heads out of the room in search of food and the Arbiter. He finds both at once.

“Hey.” John takes a seat at the breakfast bar next to where the Arbiter’s standing. “Is there any more of that?”

The Arbiter passes John a bowl of the same seared fish he’s eating. John can’t remember the last time he had something this fresh. It’s fresh enough that he has a sneaking suspicion that the Arbiter went and caught some fish and prepared this himself while John was sleeping.

“Are you feeling better?”

John nods, mouth full of fish.

“That is good.” The Arbiter gives John’s shoulder a squeeze. “Would you like me to inform the _Forward Unto Dawn_ that our leave is over?”

John chokes on his dinner.

“Over?”

“You do not wish to leave this place?”

John shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. I’ll stay out of the forest. It was that and your camouflage that confused me, made me think I was back on a Halo.”

The Arbiter watches him, then nods.

“You will inform me if your desires change,” he says.

“Sure.” John finishes his food. “I still desire you.”

It's not great, as pickup lines go, but it demonstrates enough of a return to form for John that the Arbiter relaxes.

“I would hope so.”

They move to the settee. John swings a leg over the Arbiter's lap, straddling him. It's easy from there to press a gentle kiss to his bruised mandible.

The Arbiter flexes his mandibles and butts John's chin.

“Want more?” John presses another kiss, firmer, to the uninjured mandible on the same side.

“Yes,” the Arbiter says softly, not wanting to catch John with his teeth.

John slowly kisses up and down the Arbiter's mandibles. Occasionally licking just far enough to scrape his tongue on the toothy insides. The Arbiter strokes his hands over every inch of John he can reach.

And that’s definitely _every_ inch.

“Ease up, I don’t want this to be over before we’ve even started,” John says.

It’s a slow journey to the bedroom, with more than one lamp or flower vase being knocked over on the way. They might have been appreciated by a pair of civilians holidaying, but John’s never put much stock in decoration.

John checks the bedside table — empty — and breaks out of the make out long enough to rummage through the bathroom cabinet. Score. Five different types of lube and more types of protection than John’s ever used.

He hadn’t realised this was a honeymoon lodge.

“So what do I have to do to get you bent over for me?” John asks, waving a bottle of water-based lube as he saunters back into the bedroom.

The Arbiter looks amused and tilts John’s head up with one long finger under his chin.

“And what makes you think I will be the one bending over?”

“I’ll suck your dick again,” John says easily.

The Arbiter’s mandibles flex inches from John’s face. John leans up to lick one of them. The bruised one, he realises too late, but the Arbiter doesn't seem to care.

“Acceptable.”

It’s still a somewhat hesitant look on the Arbiter’s face as John puts the lube on the bedside table and gestures for the Arbiter to get on the bed.

“We don’t have to do this,” John says.

“I want to, however, you are thicker than Elites,” the Arbiter says.

“Oh.”

Of course. John might be looking at the Arbiter’s dick and feeling inadequate about length, but that doesn’t mean the Arbiter hasn’t got a different view of things. The fact that he’s brought it up now is a good indicator that John should be listening.

“Not done any fisting then?”

There's enough confusion on the Arbiter's face that John knows the translator didn't catch that properly. He holds up his hand, fingers poised for fisting, in the hope that will communicate his meaning.

“Some Elites talk about taking a whole hand,” the Arbiter says, “I have not tried.”

Sometimes John wonders exactly what the Arbiter’s sex life was before they met. He knew he’d been extremely highly ranked within the Covenant and that kind of thing often came with a lack of partners willing to be dominating — God knows John’s had enough trouble with hero-worship when he used to try and find bedmates within the marines.

“I’ve never hurt a human before,” John says. “We can go as slow as you need to. How about you lie back and show me where everything is. I’ll be a good distraction.”

The Arbiter reclines on the creaky bed and allows John to sit between his legs. John spies the patch of scales from yesterday and leans down to give it an encouraging lick. The Arbiter's eyes close.

"For a creature of so few words, you have a very skilled tongue."

“You gonna show me what I’m aiming for?” John asks. “Or do I have to guess?”

John thinks he can follow the scaled ridge down, but he honestly doesn't know. Alien anatomy is just alien.

The Arbiter shifts slightly and scales part in a different pattern to the ones around his dick, about half an inch further down than John was expecting. Not bad for a guess.

"Alright." John licks the dick scales again and they split too, letting a few inches of dick out to bump against John's lips. "Pass the lube and I'll get started."

The Arbiter feels weirdly like a human when John presses the tip of a lubed finger in. All hot and tight and soft internal walls. He's not resisting this little, so John sucks his mouthful of dick and slides the rest of his finger in.

"You almost feel like an Elite like this," the Arbiter says, amused. "Though not nearly as deep."

John glances at the Arbiter's fingers — each of them thicker than his own by a fair margin — and has a sudden epiphany.

Do Elites even do prep while fucking? He's still licking the slick pre-lube off the Arbiter's dick and they're not exactly thick either. They might not need to.

Forging new territory again. The duties of a Master Chief never end.

John gets some more lube and presses two fingers in. It's a much tighter fit now and the Arbiter hisses — a strange sound through so many teeth. John licks over the split at the tip of his dick to help relax him. Now John knows, he can feel the slight give where it forks.

Once the Arbiter’s accepting two fingers easily, John moves onto a third. He gets hissed at again and a “ _fuck_ ” garbles its way through the translator.

John takes his time, enjoying the way tension and nerves give way to loose pleasure. He loves making people come apart like this; it’s something very _human_ , despite his alien partner.

Eventually, the teasing has to end and John sits back, fisting his own cock with a slick hand to get it ready.

“It’ll be easier on your hands and knees,” John says. He takes a second to consider how the Arbiter’s legs are shaped. “If that’ll work for you?”

The Arbiter rolls over and lets John situate himself between long digitigrade legs. His thighs are roughly of a length with John’s, so things line up better than he could’ve hoped.

John presses in, the scaled rim so much more rigid against his cock than a human’s.

There are short spines on the Arbiter’s back between his shoulder blades that John hadn’t noticed before. He rubs a hand over them while the Arbiter adjusts. The skin feels thicker there, yet the Arbiter leans into his touch.

“You like that?”

“Yes.” The Arbiter shivers. “You are good with your hands.”

“Wait ‘till you see what else I’m good with,” John says with a roll of his hips.

“Mercy, Demon,” the Arbiter groans. “Let me enjoy this.”

“Oh, you will,” John promises.

Despite his boasting, John starts slow. The Arbiter is _tight_ , even with all the fingering.

John reaches around to grip the Arbiter’s dick. It’s slick to the touch and curls up John’s arm like a vine. John has a sudden mental picture of it stretching far enough to fuck him while he’s fucking the Arbiter like he’s currently doing.

Might be a bit advanced for now, but John makes a mental note to come back to it later.

The Arbiter slides a hand down to join John’s around his dick. His technique involves a lot more squeezing than John’s and John does his best to follow his example.

John speeds up. The Arbiter presses back against him, so he must be doing something right. John closes his eyes and loses himself in the sensation of tight heat. Rough scales rub against his skin and legs that are nothing like a human’s brush his sides.

There’s no denying that he’s fucking an alien.

John wonders what the psych eval is going to say the next time he’s forced through one. He’s pretty sure there’s a big red flag for finding the enemy sexy.

He doesn’t care.

John opens his eyes and licks a stripe up the Arbiter’s back. Whatever happens, they’ll at least have this time.

The Arbiter gives a harsh cry that John nearly mistakes for pain, until he remembers the same noise being ripped from the Arbiter during his blowjob and his insistence that John should just keep doing what he’s doing.

So John squeezes the Arbiter’s dick again and keeps fucking.

The Arbiter cries again, his dick pulses, getting thicker. He must be close. John redoubles his efforts and —

There’s a _crack_.

John stops moving. The Arbiter braces himself.

There’s another, louder _crack_ then the bed collapses under them.

John hadn’t thought the bedframe was _that_ flimsy. He coughs from the sudden cloud of dust that’s filled the air.

“You alright?” John asks.

“A moment,” the Arbiter says shakily.

John pulls out and disentangles himself from the splintered bedframe and twisted sheets. The Arbiter stands shortly after, stretching his spine.

“Have to say, that’s a first for me,” John says.

“And that is why constructs made of wood are not a good idea.”

“I’m not going to argue when we were in the middle of something that I’d like to finish,” John says.

The Arbiter waves a hand at the bed. John notices streaks of lilac staining the sheets. Now he thinks to look, there’s alien cum on his elbow too.

“Well, _I’d_ still like to finish.”

“And I will be happy to assist you. Though perhaps not here.” The Arbiter grimaces at the mess that was once a bed.

“Couch?”

John soon finds himself in the Arbiter’s lap on the settee, this time not pushing the Arbiter’s hands away when he fondles John’s cock.

Unfortunately, with everything John’s been through this evening, his orgasm is eluding him. A satisfying one anyway — he can probably force himself to the finish if he has to, but it wouldn’t be nice.

“Tell me what you want,” the Arbiter says.

“I need…” John’s not sure.

“Tell me how you want to finish.”

“This is good,” John considers what he wants. “Can I come on you?”

The Arbiter nods and speeds up his hand. It’s fantastic, but John needs a slight push more.

“Kiss me.”

The Arbiter’s mandibles coming at John’s face should be terrifying, but John leans into it. The scrape of fangs around his mouth is enough. John’s always liked things rough. He grunts and starts coming.

The Arbiter’s got a good memory, he wrings John’s orgasm out of him exactly how John showed him how to yesterday. Cum splashes all over his chest, shockingly white against his dark blue-grey skin.

John violently shivers a second after he finishes. The Arbiter’s clean hand comes up to support John’s back.

“Are you well?”

“Yeah,” John says, getting his breath back, “Yeah, that was good.”

* * *

_Anthropophilia_

They’ve only been gone one and a half days total when the call comes.

The clock shows 04:45 when John's communicator goes off. A second later Cortana is stood on the bedside table, familiar smirk in place as she takes in the sight of John spooning the Arbiter — it doesn’t work the other way around. Or she's probably amused by the bedframe lying shattered in the corner.

“Sorry to cut things short, Chief, but you’re needed. Both of you are.”

“Now?”

“As soon as you can make it. We’ve picked up an SOS signal.”

John grumbles, but rolls over and flings the covers off. Behind him, the Arbiter is sitting up. Cortana vanishes, satisfied she’s passed the message along.

“Must be a record,” John pulls on some underwear and has to readjust several times before he’s comfortable. It’s amazing how quickly you can get used to walking around naked. “The UNSC nearly made it two days without running into trouble.”

“From my understanding that is their job. Running into trouble before the trouble runs into the rest of the humans.”

“That’s why they need me, I’m good at trouble.”

“You _are_ trouble, Chief.” The Arbiter shoots John a fond look as he clips one of his mailed sleeves on.

* * *

The mission is short, a group of Elites and Grunts trying to defect and being chased down for their efforts. It’s almost embarrassing how grateful they are to be saved by the Arbiter himself.

John’s visor sustains a crack — it was a choice between grabbing a rock while falling off a cliff and smashing his face into the side, or falling an unknown distance into unknown terrain. He’d chosen to catch the cliff and stay in the fight, but now his HUD keeps forgetting a different part of the display whenever he tries to reset it.

Keyes and Johnson decide to do the debrief in the engineers’ bay, while the Arbiter sees his people to comfortable quarters until they can find somewhere to drop them off. Some will be joining the fight, but others want to get out of the war entirely and need somewhere safe to live.

“This is the fifth group of Elites we’ve come across,” Keyes is arguing. “We need a better protocol for handling them.”

“And I keep saying we shouldn’t have to handle them,” Johnson retorts. “We should — what the hell happened to your face?”

John hands over his helmet to the technician and raises an eyebrow at Johnson.

“What are you talking about?”

“You look like you caught the wrong end of a gravel path,” Johnson says, gesturing around his mouth.

“Or the right end of the Arbiter,” Keyes says, amused.

John checks his reflection in the polished stainless steel lab table they’ve commandeered. Sure enough, the marks from the Arbiter’s rough kisses haven’t faded completely yet.

John grins. Johnson makes a distressed noise.

“We should keep helping the Elites,” John says, partly to mess with Johnson. Mostly he knows it’s the right thing to do, but he’s a soldier first and foremost. Keyes can argue exactly why they’re fighting — which she does.

John nods in the right places and volunteers himself for a mission scheduled in six hours. A day and a half’s leave hasn’t changed anything.

His helmet is repaired by the time they wrap up. John puts it on, but not without a last rub at his kiss marks where Johnson can see.

“I suppose you can't spell Arbiter without _biter_ ,” Johnson says, resigned. He holds a hand up when John opens his mouth — he’s always been good at reading expressions through the visor. “And don’t tell me how you broke the bed. I _don’t_ wanna know. Bad enough I’ve gotta pay for it.”

“Why talk when I’ve got footage?” John bluffs.

“You’re damn lucky you’re happy,” Johnson grumbles.

Happy?

John hadn’t thought about it, but maybe he is.

* * *

The Arbiter is waiting in John’s room when he gets back. It’s probably Cortana’s fault that he could get in without John being there.

“All sorted?”

“The Elites are housed for now,” the Arbiter replies, “and there is time for rest.”

“Just rest?” John says, locking the door behind him. “Or something more?”

The Arbiter’s thrumming with the same pent-up energy that John hasn’t been able to dispel since the mission. Normally he’d go work off his stress in the training rooms, but a much better solution is right here.

“You are _glorious_ in battle.” The Arbiter wastes no time crowding John toward his bunk. “Let me show my appreciation.”

“And here I thought you were looking to bone,” John says.

“Humans,” the Arbiter says with a scoff, “so many ways to say the same thing crudely.”

John’s surprised that made it through the translator, or maybe the Arbiter’s guessing after having spent a lot of time amongst marines and their _unique_ way of phrasing things.

“Remind me whose race has a special word for what we are to each other?” John says, stripping out of his armour.

“Accuracy in a language is desired, vulgar redundancy is not.”

“You _like_ my vulgar redundancy,” John says with a nip to the Arbiter’s neck.

“I do, Gods help me.” The Arbiter stops undressing to pull John close and nip more forcefully at his neck in turn. “I want to fuck you until it is all you have left, Demon.”

“Sounds good to me.”

John makes space enough to finish getting naked. He sits on the edge of his bed and watches the Arbiter remove his last bits of armour.

“Do you have lubrication?” the Arbiter asks.

John fishes a half-empty bottle of lube out of his storage locker and holds it up triumphantly.

“Prepare yourself,” the Arbiter says, “show me how humans like it.”

“You like to watch,” John realises, even as he slips a finger into himself.

“I like to do more than that,” the Arbiter says, but he hasn’t made any move to get closer.

“Never said you didn’t.” John pumps his cock a few times with his free hand to keep it interested.

John gets up to two fingers moving easily in and out before the Arbiter shuffles closer. He takes ahold of John’s wrist and slides his fingers back out, replacing them with one of his own. It’s longer than any human ones John’s ever had, pressing deep inside, eased by John’s previous touch and plenty of lube.

The Arbiter ducks his head down and John has a moment of fear as sharp toothy mandibles get very close to certain sensitive parts of his anatomy, then the Arbiter bites down on the inside of John’s thigh. Four paths of prickling pressure.

“Gah!” John whimpers.

He’s always liked a bit of pain with his pleasure, and now he’s extremely thankful that nothing’s on his cock right now or he’d have just ending things way faster than he wanted to.

The Arbiter slips another finger inside John, pressing deep until his knuckles nudge against John’s rim. His mouth digs in harder to John’s leg — John’s got to be bleeding by now but he doesn’t care, it’s exactly what he wants.

“C’mon,” John gasps. “Fuck me. I’m ready.”

The Arbiter pulls off of John entirely until there are no points of contact remaining. For a moment, he just watches John lie there and pant. Then he’s grabbing John’s thighs and pressing them up, settling in between John’s legs.

“Do you still want it this way?” the Arbiter asks.

John grips the Arbiter’s shoulders and nods.

The Arbiter’s hips press against John's ass. John can feel his scales part, pulling John further open with how close they are. Then the tip of the Arbiter’s dick slides out of his body and into John's in one smooth motion.

Having a pre-lubricated dick is handy.

“Tell me if you would like less.” That's all the warning the Arbiter gives before his dick pushes in further, and further, and even further into John.

“Holy shit,” John gasps. He's never been fucked this deep before.

“You lose so much heat through your skin and yet,” the Arbiter shivers and his dick twitches from base to tip — a whole process that John can barely make sense of. “And yet your insides are so much hotter.”

John squeezes, prompting another full dick spasm. That’s going to take some getting used to as well.

“Are you going to complain about human inefficiency all night, or are you gonna fuck me?” John lifts his hips to push against the Arbiter.

Long alien fingers tighten their grip on John's thighs. The Arbiter slowly pulls out halfway, then slides back in just as slowly.

“You will tell me if it is not to your liking.” The Arbiter presses a prickly kiss to John's jaw.

“I will,” John promises. “Now fuck me.”

The Arbiter lets go of John’s legs to brace himself on the bunk, then starts fucking properly.

The raw _power_ behind the Arbiter’s thrusts isn’t something John’s had for a long time. The initial weirdness of taking an alien dick is quickly being overshadowed by how good it feels to be pounded.

John’s usual habits of civilian company had been missing this. Someone who is every inch the warrior John is, even in the bedroom. John wraps his legs around the Arbiter and squeezes, knowing that he’s not going to do any harm. He doesn’t have to be careful like he does with another human; here he can go all out. And they can go all out in turn.

The Arbiter slows just enough to shift his weight to one arm and reach the other down to touch John’s cock. John grips his shoulders, enjoying the feel of corded muscle under the scales.

It’s very, very good.

The Arbiter stops, making John moan. He was close, dammit.

“Against the wall,” the Arbiter demands, pulling out and taking the chance to slick himself with some lube. “I would have you as you are in combat.”

John's not sure what he means exactly, but he’d much rather keep being fucked, so he gets to his feet and backs up against the wall.

The Arbiter spins John around, grabs his thighs, and lifts, pressing John's chest into the wall. He spreads John's legs and pushes between them, dick sliding back inside with a hiss pulled from both of them.

From this angle, John has much less control. He can push against the wall and back into the Arbiter, but nothing more without interrupting things.

“You like it this way?” John asks, letting his head tip back onto the Arbiter’s shoulder.

“It gives me space to do _this_.”

John's breath catches in his throat as the Arbiter’s dick spasms then undulates inside him. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. It rhythmically presses against his prostate and stretches him.

The Arbiter’s not even thrusting any more, just rocking his hips slightly as his dick writhes inside John and he scrapes a sharp kiss over John’s neck. Long, four-fingered hands tighten on John’s thighs and the chest that rubs against his back is covered in rough scales.

It’s completely and utterly _alien_. And John loves every second.

He reaches down and starts jerking himself, leaving his body braced only by one forearm. If the Arbiter drops him now, John’s going to land on his face. Though, given the way the Arbiter’s gripping John, he’s confident that dropping him is the last thing on the Arbiter’s mind. He thrusts, dick reaching even further into John.

At John’s strangled moan, the Arbiter thrusts again. And again.

“Fuck! Fuck! _Fuck!_ ”

John comes with a shout. His fist hits the wall hard enough to leave a dent.

The Arbiter groans and he stills, then his dick does a whole new writhe and pulse that nearly makes John scream. Before he can complain about overstimulation, it slows to a stop and they both pant in the silence.

“Are you satisfied?” The Arbiter asks, breathlessly.

“Yeah, I'm good,” John says, eyeing the mess he left on the wall.

The Arbiter holds John close for another minute, then pulls out in a long slither that makes John shiver.

John's legs are wobbly under him when he’s standing fully under his over power, he staggers to his bed and collapses on his back.

“Fuck, that was good,” John says.

The Arbiter stretches, then sits by John, unable to stop himself from stroking a hand over John's chest. He's still fascinated by human hair.

“Agreed.”

The Arbiter runs his thumb over the bite marks he left on John’s neck, but he doesn’t apologise like John's come to expect.

That’s good, it means he’s taking John’s words about not being fragile to heart.

“I will leave you to your rest,” the Arbiter says instead, standing up and collecting his armour.

“You don’t have to go,” John says.

The Arbiter considers John's bunk.

“It does appear to be sturdier than the last, but smaller. Will we both fit?”

“Only one way to find out,” John says cockily.

They don’t, but they still get an hour of entwined rest and that’s good enough.


End file.
